Semper Fidelis
by Jerry Lannigan
Summary: It is the year 2020 AD. The United States has removed itself from the UN, as has Russia and Israel. While the US prepares to leave Afganistan, US Marines Sergeant Holmes and 1st Lieutenant Lannigan find themselves caught out in the arid Afgan desert miles from Kabul. As they struggle to survive the hostile environment, they unwittingly stumble into the start of WWIII.
1. Chapter 1

Being a mobian of the furred persuasion, I really hated the fact that humvees lacked proper air conditioning. Seriously, if the government could afford to give itself a raise every two months, why not spare some cash to outfit the military with at least a way to minimize risk of Marine heat stroke?  
Well, as I said before, the humvee was unbearably hot, since the AC had broken the day before. Being in the open was hot enough in the Afgani desert, but being in a locked in a metal box with four other grown men while wearing forty pounds of gear made the experience even more hot.

I casually looked at my four other squadmates, who no doubt shared my thoughts. All of them were humans, and judging from their accents, were mainly from New York and New Hampshire. Yeah, I didn't really talk much to anyone beyond calling "frag out," "changing mag," and "suppressing fire." I wasn't antisocial by any means, but I only met these guys the week before. I am glad that the Marine Corps desegregated mobians from humans, but did they have to forcibly shuffle us around until we had an even mix? Oh, well. I supposed I would warm up to the new faces eventually.

I looked out the window towards the surrounding desert: rocks, cacti, and sand were the only things to see. Off in the distance I could see mountains, dotted with patches of green that I assumed to be trees. Ah, what would I have given for some proper tree shade, a cold canteen, and a meatloaf MRE right then!

_KRAKBOOM_

The world suddenly flipped upside-down as I felt my jaw slam into my lip and head connect with metal ceiling. Thank God for helmets, else I probably would have died at that moment. The humvee landed with a loud *thud*, and everything went black.

* * *

"Sergeant! Stay with me, buddy! Just a few...more...got it!" I felt someone grab my elbows and pull hard. I then felt myself being pulled up and over what I assumed to be what was left of the humvee and finally rested on solid ground. "You okay, Sergeant?" I opened my eyes and blinked twice. Kneeling by me was a dark brown mobian alligator. I looked at the patch on his arm: a lone silver bar.

"Yes," I coughed. I would have said "thanks", but the crack of gunfire cut off conversation.

"CONTACT, 45 DEGREES RIGHT!"

The gator went prone, rolled me onto my stomach, tossed me an M4, and started firing his sidearm. I looked around blearily; my glasses had fallen off, so everything seemed fuzzy. I knew I should have worn contact lenses; my brother Robert had always said it would make things much easier.  
I could just make one of my comrades nearby; he was bleeding badly, but he was still returning fire to our attackers.  
"What are y'all waitin' for?" the alligator said.

"I... I can't see properly," I coughed. "I had glasses on."

The reptilian lieutenant muttered a profanity and dove back into the wrecked humvee. He reappeared moments later with the M240B, which somehow survived the wreck. He threw it to me, pointing at a hill ninety yards away. "Pour it on 'em, Sergeant!" He ran to the wounded human on my left and began dragging him behind the wreck to safety.

I couldn't see the hill too well, but I aimed as best I could at the hilltop, pulled the trigger, and sprayed. I hear several shouts of "frag out!", accompanied by several explosions. But that didn't matter to me at the time: I simply held the trigger down.

_CLICK_

My heart froze when I saw that the ammo belt still had two feet of ammunition left: my weapon had jammed. Frantically, I pulled the charging handle to clear the jam. That was stuck, too. "Oh, piss all!" I shouted as a rolled for cover, return fire pinging all around me.

"Now what's up?" the lieutenant shouted over the noise as I ducked behind the Humvee's wreck with him and my injured comrade.

"My gun's jammed!" I shouted back. "And I'm out of ammo!"

"Now what do we do?" my human comrade yelled. "The radio's out, and I can't raise HQ! This Humvee won't stand for long!"

As suddenly as it had begun, the firing stopped. An eerie quiet settled on the desert plain, the only sounds being the deafening pulse in my ears and our collective ragged breathing. "Thank Christ," the human sighed.

Quietly, the gator searched his pockets and produced a pair of thick glasses. He then turned to me. "Here, Sergeant. They were my dad's, but you need 'em more than he does."

"Thanks, sir." I took the glasses and slid them onto my face. The world around me became much, *much* clearer than it had been for the past few minutes. I looked at the name patch on his vest: it simply read LANNIGAN in bold black lettering.

"You okay, Private Hunt?" Lannigan asked the human.

I looked at the human again, and this time I could clarly see his injury: his entire lower leg had been taken off, leaving a bloody stump. My stomach knotted.

"I'm fine, sir," said Hunt. "It's just a cut. It's just a cut."

Lannigan looked at me and mouthed *morphine*. I carefully pried the humvee passenger door ajar, and I began rummaging through the glove compartment. Not only did I find two medpacks, but I also found six MREs, a D-ration, three canteens, and a spare M9 magazine. I opened one of the medpacks, removed the morphine syringe, and handed it to Lannigan. I then heard Hunt hiss as the needle jabbed into his leg. "See that? The pain's going already. You're going to be fine, Private." He looked back to me again. "Sergeant," he said, pointing at the treasures I had gathered from the wreck. "Put all that in your pack. I'm going to dig out Patillo and Ramsey's dogtags." We exchanged positions, Lannigan now searching through the wreck while I knelt by Hunt.

As I finished packing what little supplies we had, my ears perked up at a distant metallic _pop pop pop_. "What was that?"

The lieutenant pulled himself from the wreckage, eyes widened considerably. "Mortar fire." He tucked what I assumed to be the dogtags in his pocket, hefted Private Hunt onto his shoulders, and picked up a rifle. "MOVE, MOVE, MOVE!" He began running toward a small ditch twenty yards away. I followed half a step behind.

Lieutenant Lannigan dove into the ditch with Hunt over his shoulders. I was able to follow when...

_BOOOM_!

A mortar landed right behind me, blowing me forward and into the ditch, landing right on top of Lannigan in a heap. "Sorry," I said, getting up off him. "Mortar nearly got me."

"It's alright, Sergeant," Lannigan said, as he set Private Hunt down. "Let's just focus on taking shelter."

"Where exactly would that be?" I asked. "It's not like we can just find a cave, and I seriously doubt we could hike thirty miles back to base."

Lannigan looked at me, and then at Hunt. "You wouldn't happen to have a map, would you?" he said as he checked Hunt again.

Thankfully, I did indeed have a map in my pocket. God always seems to provide, doesn't He? I fumbled through my left breast pocket and found the desired item. I unfolded it, smoothed out the creases, and then set it out. I pointed at a large red circle on the map. "HQ is the circle." I traced my finger on the map. "We're about _there_." I smiled, relieved. "Kabul's only fifteen miles north from here."

"Hunt? You okay, kid? _Hunt? Hunt!_" I looked up from the map and saw Lannigan trying to keep Hunt awake. "C'mon, don't die on us now!" Hunt didn't move a muscle: he sat, a limp corpse. "Fuck." He quietly removed Hunt's dogtags.

So Hunt was dead too. He'd been the closest I'd had to a friend in our squad; he'd always treated me with the utmost respect, even though we hardly spoke. I placed a hand on his shoulder. "I'll tell your family you loved them, old friend," I said quietly. I turned to Lieutenant Lannigan. "Do you think you can still carry him?"

Lannigan shook his head. "Carrying him will only slow us down. We'll have to leave him here."

"But he was a good soldier," I protested. "He deserves a decent burial, rather than just rotting in a ditch!"

"And do you have an e-tool in your pocket, too?" Lannigan snarled "I sure don't, and digging a grave is just going to waste our energy and dehydrate us faster." He held out Hunt's dogtags. "Getting these back to his folks is the best we can do for him."

I was appalled that we had to leave Hunt, but the lieutenant did have a point. I nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Don't call me that, Sergeant. You actually had to work for your rank: I just went to ROTC in college."

"Fair enough, Lieutenant." I unclipped the canteen from my belt and took a few sips. "So, do we find someplace to hide, or do we head straight for Kabul?"

"Straight for Kabul when it starts to get dark. We don't want the towelheads to catch us in the open in broad day. For now, we stay here."

I looked at my watch: it read 1400 hours, about seven hours before nightfall.

I settled myself down as comfortably as I could against the side of the ditch; this was going to be a very long wait. For two hours, we just sat there in silence, doing nothing at all. Then...

"Say, Sergeant," Lannigan said, making me start in surprise, "I never asked your name; nor have I told you mine." He held out his hand. "First Lieutenant Jeremy M. Lannigan; but you can call me Jerry."

I shook it. "Sergeant Thomas C. Holmes II, but most people just call me Tom or Thomas."

Jerry cocked an eyebrow. "Interesting accent you got there. New US citizen?"

I chuckled. "Well, yes. I emigrated from England to America a few years back."

"So, what are you doing in the USMC?" Jerry asked. "Problems at home, or did you want a change of scenery?"

"You could say problems at home, in a sense. Ever since the US, Israel, and Russia pulled out of the UN, things became strained amongst the family. I moved to the US to get away from all the arguments over political nonsense."

Jerry smiled. "I hear ya. But why the Marines? Of all the military branches you could choose from, why Marines?"

It was my turn to smile. "I figured they could use some more smart people, break the stereotype that Marines are stupid."

Jerry nodded. "Yeah, me too. My brother Jimmy, an Air Force brat, always had a certain disdain for Marines."

"Why is that?"

"Eh, I've chalked it up to that rivalry all military branches have. It's natural, I guess."

We didn't speak for another three hours, mainly because I accidentally took a nap while we waited for night. I guess the adrenaline in my system finally faded and told my body to crash. Jerry didn't seem to mind when he woke me up. "Sergeant, get up: we're moving out early."

I looked at the sky: the sun had just begun to set. I then checked the mag in my M4: I had a full mag of thirty rounds, in addition the other three mags strapped to my vest. "Why are we leaving?"

Jerry looked around suspiciously. "Hear that?"

I strained my ears. Being a cat, my hearing is about six times better than a human's hearing, and yet I heard nothing. "No..."

"Exactly. Let's move."

I glanced back at Hunt's corpse. I was still reluctant to leave him in this ditch. Jerry noticed this. "Sergeant, I'm really sorry we have to leave him. I assure you that, under different circumstances, I would agree that we can't leave him, but we have to report to HQ and burying him will only waste energy."

"I know, Jerry," I said absently. "It's just that; you know...?"

Jerry sighed. "Yes, I do know: 'A good soldier never leaves a man behind.' However, that rule only counts if the Marine in question is still alive. I know it's hard, but we have to go."

I took a deep breath. "Goodbye, comrade," I said, before turning away. "Alright, Lieutenant, let's move out."

So we walked north, toward Kabul. I'm glad we set out when the air began to cool down, else I may have suffered heat stroke. That's the problem with having darkish colored fur: not only does the fur keep in heat, the color actually attracts heat. Did I mention I was glad that we set out at night? I thought so. Anyway, while it was nice to be traveling without the oppressive daytime heat, hiking ten miles of hilly desert was still no picnic. At times, we had to move slowly as well: both Jerry and I knew rapid movement was a major cause of catching a sniper's eye.

Around 2300, we stopped. The moon shone brightly amongst the billions of stars above. It looked very peaceful indeed… until the silhouette of a helicopter squadron roared past the scene northward, toward Kabul. "'It is well war is terrible, else we should grow too fond of it.'"

I turned to Jerry, who was setting down our packs in preparation for a long night on guard. "Who said that?" I asked.

"General Robert E. Lee of Virginia, supreme commander of the Confederate Army. He was the greatest general of the American Civil War."

"The American Civil War?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. "I've read about it. Wasn't it the war that was fought over slavery of black people? And was Abraham Lincoln the President at the time? Is that really why he's so famous?"

Jerry sighed contentedly as he sat down. "Well, it wasn't over slavery until the very last year of the war, when Lincoln needed to find a moral cause to boost the Union troops' morale." He patted the ground, motioning for me to sit. I complied. "No, the Civil War wasn't completely over slavery: it was over several different issues, mainly the issue of whether the states or the federal government had more power. Most of the South believed that as the people control the state governments, the states should control the federal government. Specifically, if the federal government oversteps the restrictions placed on it by the Constitution, then the states had the right to voluntarily secede from the Union as they had voluntarily joined. Mr. Lincoln disagreed with this view, so he called out the US Army to rein in the "rebel" states. This only succeeded in angering more Southern states into leaving the Union, and before Lincoln knew it, the country was literally split in two."

I was intrigued. "That's incredible! I never knew that."

Jerry chuckled. "There are many things about the United States you have no idea of."

"So do you think the Southern states had the right idea?" I asked tentatively. "I mean, judging by your accent, you're Southern, aren't you?"

"Technically yes," said Jerry. "I was born in Arizona, but I've lived most of my life in the great state of Georgia. And yes, I do think the South had the right idea, they just picked the wrong time to act." He yawned. "Heh, funny thing is that before the war, there were more anti-slavery groups in the South than there were in the North."

"Did not know that," I said. "What about during and after?"

"Well, the abolitionists up north switched from attacking the institution of slavery to attacking the South as a whole, which gave the pro-slavery and anti-slavery Southerners a common enemy. It's one thing to attack a morally reprehensible institution, but to condemn a whole region because five percent of the population takes part in it is a whole different ball game."

"I can agree on that," I said, nodding. "I guess the abolitionists got rather extremist in their determination to get rid of slavery. I am totally against slavery, but if what you say is true, then the Union is just as guilty for the war as the Confederacy is."

Jerry nodded. "Indeed. The American Civil War is the bloodiest convict in American conflict; 600,000 dead and most of the South's infrastructure destroyed after 4 years. It would be many years before America fully recovered."

"How long did it take the South to recover?" I asked.

"Let's see...about forty years, give or take. We still feel some of the scars, especially from Union General Sherman's sacking of Georgia. The only city he came across that he didn't burn down was Savannah. I thank God he didn't, because that is where I spent most of my childhood." He yawned again. "Ah, good old Savannah. Tell you what, next time we get leave, would you like a look around the place? Maybe a couple drinks down at the Churchhill's Pub?"

"Um, sure thing," I replied, not knowing what else to say.

"Which state *did* you move to?" he suddenly asked. "After you left Britain?"

"Well, what if my family in dispute, I decided to go to Florida to relax and unwind for a bit. However, my stay there didn't last long; the heat took to me. I live in Hampton, Massachusetts these days: the climate's much more agreeable. Heh, Sometimes, I wonder whether I should dye my fur a lighter colour; then it wouldn't trap so much heat. I even once suggested it to my parents, but they didn't like that idea. They always insist I continue to be a spitting image of my dad."

"Who are your parents?"

"They are Sir Thomas Holmes Senior and Lady Mary Holmes, nee Smith. My father is one of the greatest agents Britain has ever had; he works for the Special Air Service and MI6. He is a brave and willful man and has never let our nation down. I am quite proud to be his son, you know."

"Is your mother a spy?"

"No. She used to be a Royal Marine, but now she does freelance mercenary work; last I heard, she was performing some security detail in Azerbaijan."

"Interesting. Anyone else?"

"I have two older siblings; a brother and sister, named Robert and Sophia."

"What do they do?"

I screwed my eyes upward in concentration."Let's see… Sophia's currently attending Oxford to get her doctorate in Physics and her master's degree in Anthropology; Robert, last I heard, became accepted into the SAS and is actually working in Lebanon right now."

Jerry gave a little "huh" of thought, pulled a canteen out of the bag, and took a swig. He spat it back out almost instantly. "Well, ain't that a kick in the head. Looks like you grabbed someone's flask, because I just got hit with some warm Kentucky bourbon." He threw the container to me. "Try that. Nasty as hell, but it'll wake you up nicely." His head dipped toward his chest, and almost instantly my new friend was snoring away.

I sipped, and I too spat the liquid out. I never had bourbon before, and I resolved to never have it again. As I screwed the cap back on the canteen-turned-flask, I looked back up at the starry sky. For some reason, "God Save the Queen" began playing through my head. I started to hum the tune, loudly enough for me to hear but quietly enough to not wake Jerry. It was to be a long, long night.


	2. Chapter 2

**Howdy there, guys! Jerry here with another chapter of 'Semper Fidelis,' posted today in honor of D-Day, the day a million Americans, British, and Canadians stormed the beaches of Normandy and helped bring a swift end to the socialist Reich!**

* * *

I was glad that my species had built-in night vision, else I probably wouldn't have passed my shift so well. I sat beside Jerry, whose snoring sounded remarkably similar to a C-130's engines. I sat there for an hour; no hostiles ever came in sight. Ugh, I was heavily reminded of that guard post I had in South Korea a few months before. What did I see there? Nothing. What else? Nothing. It was the second most boring experience of my life, just under the time I had to wait to get my American driver's license.

As I did during my time in South Korea, I just kept my eyes sharp and my rifle ready. I had done night operations before, but they were mostly in an urban environment with amenities such as running water and walls. Even during the odd wilderness operation, I at least had six other men, a radio, and a vehicle with me. Still, at least all was quiet that night. The moon shone as brightly as ever, and the stars came out in force. I chuckled to myself as I stargazed, trying to pick out familiar constellations and even making some up myself.

I reflected on what Jerry had said about the Civil War. Despite the fact that the Confederates had lost the war, he seemed more than happy to identify himself with them. Perhaps he was just raised that way? Possibly. Then again, I myself have quite an affinity for both my homeland of Britain and my new home of the United States, and I've only lived in the latter a few years. I supposed it was an easy thing to grow into and a very hard thing to shrug off. Jerry seemed to radiate his patriotism, as though it were a byproduct of his existence. How did that private back at base put it…? Oh, yes: he bled red, white, and blue, it seemed.

I started when Jerry snorted himself awake. "Tom? What time is it?"

I looked at my watch. "0345 hours, Jerry."

Jerry sat up. "My turn to watch. You sleep."

"I'm not really that sleepy, Jerry," I said, though I couldn't help giving a small yawn. "Maybe we should move on to Kabul."

Jerry shook his head. "I'm pulling rank here. You get some rest, that's an order."

I chuckled. "Drat. And we were getting along so well." Jerry and I switched places, with him sitting up while I laid on the ground. Don't worry, my bag made an excellent pillow substitute. What I didn't expect was that I fell asleep the instant my head hit the bag.

Now, here's where things got a little freaky: in my dream, I was surrounded by nothing but pitch black. There were no objects to speak of, and it was so black that I couldn't see any part of myself unless I pressed it to my face. However, I heard something quite familiar: gunfire. Artillery shells. Pained screams. A battle was going on around me, and I couldn't see it! Frantically, I went prone, drew my pistol, and waited. The invisible battle raged on, but I began to make out humanoid figures all around me, running this way and that and firing at an unknown point in the blackness. I began firing my own weapon in the same direction.

Suddenly, a very familiar sound penetrated the battle: bells. Not just any bells, but the bells I heard every noon during my childhood; the bells of Big Ben! The gunfire ceased, the figures disappeared, and the blackness melted away to my childhood house, just across the street from the famed clocktower. I grinned stupidly, the nostalgia rushing to my head. I looked to the pure blue sky and breathed deeply. Ah, it was good to be back home!

I turned, and I saw my sister coming up the street toward me. "Sophia! I haven't seen you in a while!" I jogged up to her, but when I went to hug her...

_SLAP_

I stepped back, a fresh stinging pain on my right cheek. "How could you?" she said, tears welling up in her green eyes. "After what you did here-what you did to Rob-how could you have the_ gall_ to run up to me as though nothing happened?" Her voice started quietly, but by the end of her sentence she was yelling.

The world began to melt away, revealing what looked a lot like those pictures of Stalingrad I saw in history class. There was one major difference: Big Ben was still there. "No," I whispered, horrified. "No, no, no, no, no, NO!" I kept rubbing my eyes and telling myself to wake up, but to no avail.

I felt a hand rest on my shoulder. "Tom?" I turned around, and I saw Jerry. "Tom, are you okay?" I tried to answer, but my mouth suddenly refused to move. "Are you going to be okay, Tom? Tom? Buddy?" The blackness slowly returned until it blotted out Jerry, his voice, and the scenery around me. And then, I woke up.

My eyes snapped open to red morning light. Jerry stood by me, a frown of concern on his face. "Jerry?"

"You alright, Tom? You wouldn't quit whimpering the entire time."

"I had a freaky dream, Jerry," I said, breathing heavily. "First, I was in some black void, then I was surrounded by gunfire and warfare. Then, the scenery changed to London, my childhood home; I even saw the house where I grew up in."

"I have dreams like that, sometimes," Jerry said, nodding.

"I then saw my sister, Sophia," I went on. "I went to hug her, but she slapped me, seeing I had a lot of gall to go up to her like that, as if nothing happened between me and... my brother, Robert."

"Did something happen between you and your brother?" Jerry asked.

"Well... yes. Remember when I said I moved to America to get away from the political nonsense at home?"

Jerry cocked an eyebrow. "Yes?"

"Rob was always a bit on the odd side, at least politically. He strongly believed that the only reason any war is started is that there was any border between nations in the first place."

Jerry helped me up. "So he's an ultranationalist?"

"Not exactly. He believed the UN should be the overarching government of the world, to the point where the world should be a single country with one currency and a planned economy."

Jerry's expression considerably soured. "An ultrasocialist, then. Why did he join the British military, then?"

"He figured Britain was destined to lead the 'unification,' so he thought the military was a good way to bring it about."

"I'm guessing that you disagreed with him, and you two got into a fight?"

I sighed. "Yeah. We were at a pub at Hereford when we started talking about it. When I told him he was nuts, he accused me of being intellectually backward, I called him a Nazi, and then we exchanged blows. He punched me in the bollocks, so I smashed my beer over his head."

Jerry cracked a wry grin. "Sounds like a good pub to me."  
I felt a tear in my eye. "Rob had to go to hospital to have the shards removed from hs head. I felt so guilty for doing that to him that I left for America the very next day, without even saying goodbye. But I did leave a note, saying how sorry I was. While in America, I sent a few letters home, again saying how sorry I was to Rob; he never replied. None of my family did. It's not that I can blame, really. I wouldn't be surprised if they all hate me."

I picked my own rifle and backpack. "Alright, you lead on, Lieutenant. You know the way better than I do."

* * *

As we did the day before, we walked. The morning sun became blazingly hot, but we didn't care: a few miles or so, and we'd at least be able to get a drink!

After about an hour of walking, I spoke up. "Jerry?"

"Yeah, Tom?"

"How did Robert E. Lee become the supreme commander of the Confederates? Was he just appointed to that position, or did he have prior experience?"

I couldn't see Jerry's face, but I knew he was smiling again. "Both. He was a star student of Westpoint, lieutenant colonel during the Mexican War, and he conducted some peacetime operations dealing with militant abolitionists. He was originally on the Union's side because he disagreed with secession and hated slavery, but he joined the Confederates when Virginia joined the Confederacy."

"Why did he switch sides if he disagreed with the Confederates?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

Jerry glanced back to look at me. "Because he could not bear to fight his home state."

I thought about this for a moment and then nodded. "I know he must have felt," I said quietly. "Ever since the United States left the UN, Britain has been threatening war on them. I would sure hate to fight my childhood home if that ever happened, especially with my own father and brother in the armed forces."

"But would you actually fight alongside Britain?" Jerry asked. "Or would you fight with the US?"

"Neither," I said firmly.

Jerry glanced back at me again. "I'm sure things will calm down soon," he said. "I would actually worry more about fighting the rest of the EU or China than I would about fighting Britain."

"Yeah, I suppose so," I said. The rest of Europe definitely seemed more threatening than my old home, as did China, but I felt unbelievably uncomfortable knowing the possibility of war was there.

We continued our walk in silence for two more hours until Kabul finally came into view ahead "About flipping time," Jerry breathed, visibly relaxing. "We need to walk another hour or before we can get lax. As soon as we find the 'Murican Embassy and settle in, we're gonna find ourselves a McDonald's, get some crappy junk food and a shake, and just hork it down!" He inhaled deeply. "Just another mile and-"

_Poppopoppop_

I felt something small whizz past my head, and I went prone. "Where the hell did that come from?"

Jerry had gone prone as well. "Looks like_ someone's_ gotten ballsy today," he muttered. He rolled, and then pointed out a tiny shack to the left about 200 yards away. "There!"

I aimed at the shack: because of the enhanced zoom from the ACOG sight on my weapon, I spotted our attacker peering from around the shack rear to take another potshot. I didn't hesitate; I pulled the trigger twice, hitting the man in the arm. The man ducked behind cover before I could nail his heart or head.

Jerry growled like a hungry predator. "Move up, Sergeant. Let's slot this bastard." We stood, keeping our rifles trained on the shack, and we split up. Jerry went right; I went left. We both moved forward, walking rapidly but not running or jogging. I spotted the end of the man's weapon sticking out from behind the shack, but I did not see the man himself.

I briefly glanced to my right and saw Jerry unclipping a frag grenade from his belt. "Frag out!" he called, and then he chucked the device toward the shack. Both he and I proned flat on the ground and covered our ears. Two seconds later, an orange fireball enveloped the shack, sending shards of wood, metal, and droplets of blood every which way.

"Whoa!" I said, sitting up. "You okay, Jerry? Nothing hit you?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Jerry said. "But that guy's vulture food."

"Why did he attack us?" I wondered out loud. "Could he possibly be one of the last members of Al Qaeda? I mean, I think he looked Afghan."

"Maybe." Jerry said. "There's usually a few more if this were a true ambush. He was probably 'off-duty' when he saw us." He looked to me and chuckled. "Thank Christ we've pummeled the bastards to the point where they won't cause us trouble for a while. It may have taken fifteen years, but it's been worth it." He turned back in the direction of Kabul and started walking. "Cuntweasels like them are one of the main reasons I joined."

"Yeah, me too," I said, following him. "And please, curb your language a bit: it's becoming irritating."

"Sorry," Jerry said.

After another hour of walking, we finally arrived in Kabul. Surprisingly, the streets seemed pretty quiet and there weren't many people about. My ears perked up at the familiar crack of gunfire. "Hear that, Lieutenant?"

"Sure do, Sergeant," Jerry said as he flicked the safety off on his M4. I did likewise. "Which direction?"

I pointed toward a mass of civilians running down the street toward us. "That way, I presume."

"Alright, you lead the way. I got our rear."

We hurried forwards, myself in the lead and Jerry right behind me. We began to fight our way through the crowd of civilians.

"Coming through, coming through!" I called. "Marines here!"

The crowd tried to stop us.

"Hold on; what are you doing here?"

"You Mobians have no manners!"

"Ow! That's my foot!"

Jerry drew his pistol and fired a shot into the air. The crowd became incredibly quiet. "Now, can someone here tell us what is going on?"

A child, who looked to be no more than ten, spoke up. "Thank Allah you two came!" His accent was incredibly thick, but I could understand him. "A group of soldiers wearing blue helmets are attacking the American building: my father's trapped in there!"

"Blue helmets?" I asked as the kid pushed his way through the crowd. When he got to me, I squatted to meet him at eye level. "How many did you see?"

The kid shrugged. "I don't know. About fifteen or sixteen went in, but there might be more in the big plated car they came by in." He looked up the street nervously. "Can you get my father out? Please?"

I nodded. "Lieutenant Lannigan and I will do anything we can to help him," I said, giving him a reassuring smile. "Can you tell me your father's name?"

"His name is Mohammed Kongreal. I'm Abbas."

"Abbas, go back home and wait for us. We'll be back with your father soon." Abbas wrapped his arms around my neck, but I had to pry him away. He then ran past me and Jerry down the street, and he disappeared from sight. I stood up, and the crowd silently parted to let us through.

"Let's go," I said to Jerry. We hurried onwards down the street.

* * *

A few minutes, the US Embassy came into sight. However, we could see that there appeared to be some sort firefight going on.

We flattened ourselves against the outer wall, by the smashed-in gate that used to be the embassy's main entrance. Jerry peered around the corner. "Oh, shitsnack and crackers."

"What? What do you see?" I asked.

"Kid was right," said Jerry as he turned back to me. "UN-issue blue helmets. I figured we'd be fighting these guys soon."

"How many?"

"I count twenty-five. The kid wasn't too far off the mark."

"Any vehicles?"

Jerry peered around the corner again. "Two humvees and a transport. Only the turrets on the humvees are manned."

"Any of them have rockets?"

"Nope. They'd want the embassy intact." Jerry readied his rifle. "You take the ten on the right, I'll take care of the vehicles and get the rest."

I checked the magazine on my weapon again. Thirty rounds, as I last checked. "How close are they to the front door?"

"Twenty yards, give or take. The guys inside are firing back, but they're just trying to keep the blues' heads down. At this rate, they'll run out of ammo in a few minutes." Jerry looked back at me one more time. "On three, ready?"

"Ready."

"One... Two... THREE!" Jerry charged around the corner, firing at the turret gunners.

I charged after him, heading for the ten soldiers on the right, as Jerry had said and firing at them. I took out three of them simultaneously but the rest turned and began to fire back. I was only just able to dodge the bullets, thanks to the inherent reflexes of my species.

I swept right, quickly but carefully firing away. Two more blue helmets went down. I saw one of them drop a metal cylinder as he fell, and before I could react white light and a loud bang assaulted my eyes and ears. I flattened myself on the ground. Through the ringimg in my ears I heard several equally loud but rapid bangs, and all became quiet.

"Holmes? Buddy? You hit?"

Several pairs of footsteps came my way, but I still couldn't see their owners: everything was still white. I felt myself being rolled onto my back, and then I felt hands checking my body. "He'okay," another voice said. "Just a flashbang hit him."

My vision cleared, and I found myself staring up at six new faces, all of them human, and all of them in Marine Corps battle livery. "Nice to see friendlies for once," I thought aloud.

"You are one lucky bastard, Sergeant," one of the humans said as he pulled me to my feet. "Either lucky, or just fucking nuts."

"I'd say I was lucky," I said, inserting a finger in my ear to clear it. "Is the embassy secure?"

"Affirmative, Sergeant; most of the blue helmets are dead and the rest have surrendered."

"Good," I said. Then I remembered. "Where is Lieutenant Lannigan?"

"I'm here." Jerry came striding towards me. His arm was bleeding, but otherwise, he seemed to be okay.

"Are you okay, Lieutenant?"

"I'm fine; just took a bullet to the arm as I commandeered one of the Humvees. What about you?"

"Ears still ringing from that darn flashbang," I said. "And I'm gonna be seeing white lights for a while. But I'll live. I've been through worse."

I blinked a few times to clear my vision further, and then I turned to the guy who pulled me up. I looked at the name patch on his chest: it read WALLACE. He also had the double silver bars on his collar, which designated him as Captain. "Captain Wallace, sir, can you tell us what the blazes is going on? Why is the UN suddenly shooting at us after all those negotiations last year?"

Wallace looked grim. "Three words, Sergeant: money, money, money. Russia and America were the UN's banks for the longest time, and now... well, no one likes a pay cut."

"So, the UN is trying to get back at the US and Russia for pulling out?" Jerry asked.

"Exactly!" Wallace said. "In fact, the UN officially declared war on us yesterday. Britain was one of the countries that led the vote for it."

I blinked. Did I mishear him? Surely Britain would be cross, but declaring all-out war? But that would mean... No, I misheard him, I was sure. "Sir, are you being serious?" I looked toward the corpses of dead and dying UN soldiers, some of which were torn in half from the ma deuce (term for the Browning .50 cal machine gun) Jerry used to save my life. I spotted one of them, a blue mobian cat like me, trying to crawl into the armored transport.

I didn't think or say but one word: "No." I began running to the fallen soldier. "No, no, no, no, NO, NO, NO!" I heard Wallace and Lannigan ask me what was wrong, as well as their rapid footsteps behind me.

I finally reached the wounded mobian, at this point bawling my eyes out. "Rob! I'm so sorry, Rob!" I turned him on his back to see his face, to see my dying brother-only, it wasn't. This cat had deep, deep violet eyes, and upon removing his helmet I found short black hair and long, pointed ears. He looked quite unlike my brother, who had blond hair, folded ears, a Teddy Roosevelt mustache, one blue eye and one green eye.

We locked eyes for a moment. The guy looked simultaneously confused and terrified, like a hunted deer. There was no hatred in his expression, but there was plenty of pain. I looked at the name patch on his chest: it said ROMMEL, and on his collar I saw that his rank was Private. A little German flag on his arm told me his nationality. "Sprechen sie Englisch?" I asked softly as I put pressure on his stomach. I guessed he was one of the turret gunners, because .50 caliber rounds rip people in half when they hit that area.

"Nein," Rommel croaked.

I didn't know what to say; I knew hardly any German, though I did know 'nein' meant 'no'. Maybe I should have taken lessons from my sister Sophie...

"Allow me," Jerry said, stepping forward. "I know German."

Jerry kneeled by Rommel, offering a reassuring smile. "Est ist alles in ordnung, du wirst in ordnung sein," he said softly. He turned to me. "Holmes, help me move him inside with the others." He looked to Wallace. "Sir, permission to utilize morphine on wounded POW?"

"Permission granted, son," said Wallace. "Get him inside first." Jerry wrapped his arms around Rommel's chest, and I held up his legs. Wallace began barking orders to collect the wounded and their weapons.

I was glad to feel the embassy's air conditioning after spending so much time in the desert, but I couldn't relax yet: Rommel was still bleeding. I kept putting pressure on his wound while Jerry gave him a couple syringe of morphine and antibiotics. Wallace also helped by stuffing a tampon in the wound after we took out the bullet.

* * *

Later that evening, we had gathered about sixty Marines from around the embassy complex, eight of which were from the 8th Force Reconnaissance. Captain Wallace had twenty of us guard the main building in shifts, with five of us to an entrance. The others stayed inside to patrol the hallways, tend to the wounded, and give the civilian clerks who worked there crash courses with a rifle. Jerry and I were lucky to get the very last shift before dawn, meaning we had time to decompress.

I was watching the sun set when I felt a tap on my shoulder from behind. I turned and saw a smartly dressed Afgani clerk sitting down by me, a pistol tucked in his pocket. "Thank Allah you showed up when you did, Sergeant," he said. His accent wasn't particularly thick, but it was there nonetheless. "I hope my son Abbas made it home all right. I worry for him almost as much as his mother does."

I cocked my head inquisitively. "Is your son's last name Kongreal?"

The man looked at me, surprised. "How do you know that?"

"He sent me and Lannigan, in fact. I promised him I would get you back home safely."

The man chuckled. "From what I can tell, we may have to wait a couple days." He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. "Want one?"

I politely declined. "No, thanks. I don't smoke."

"I hate it, too. I've been trying to quit for a year now."

I nodded and looked back at the fading sun. It was just behind the mountains now, an enormous ball of soft red flame. I then stood up, and went to check on Rommel.

He was lying on his bed, fast asleep and snoring. Jerry and Wallace were watching him. "How is he?" I asked.

"He'll live, Sergeant," Wallace said. "That, we're sure of."

"So what are we going to do with him?" I asked.

Jerry loaded a mag into his pistol and chambered a round. "Soon as he wakes up, we'll put him with the other POWs."

"But before that, we're going to ask him some questions," Wallace added.

Rommel coughed, and his eyes flew open. "Huh? Wo bin ich? Was ist passiert?" He tried to stand up, but Jerry held him down.

"Bewegen Sie sich nicht, Rommel," Jerry said. "Sie werden erchossen."

Rommel kept himself seated, but he propped himself up on his arms to get a better view of his surroundings. He then looked at me and pointed. "Du! Du bist der Amerikaner, der mir das Leben gerettet!"

Jerry chuckled. "He says you're the American who saved his life."

"Firstly," I said, "I'm not American; I'm British."

Jerry turned to Rommel. "Er ist nicht amerikanisch, er ist Engländer," he said in German. Rommel nodded.

"Secondly, I only saved him because we want some answers about what's going on." Jerry translated for me.

"Okay," Wallace said. "Firstly, who exactly are you?"

"Wer genau sind Sie?"

"Ich bin Privat Heinrich Rommel der Bundeswehr," Rommel said, rather nervously.

"He says his name is Private Heinrich Rommel of the German Federal Defense," Jerry said.

"Secondly, what was your objective here with the French?"

"Was war Ihr Ziel hier mit dem Französisch?"

"Wer wurden geschickt, um die Botschaft zu erfassen. Ich kenne nichts anderes!" Rommel looked quite frightened. " Ich tat, was mir gesagt wurde, zu tun! Bitte, zögern Sie nicht mich verkaufen an die Russen!"

I could tell Jerry was biting back a smile. "He says he doesn't know why they were ordered to take the embassy, only that they were supposed to. He also said not to sell him to the Russians. Heh, dumbass obviously knows nothing about how a POW camp works."

Wallace nodded. "Ask him who his commanding officer is, and tell him we'll give him to the Russians for free if he won't talk."

Jerry grinned as he turned to Rommel. "Wer ist Ihr kommandierender Offizier? Wenn Sie nicht reden, wir übergeben Ihnen den Russen als Gefangener des Krieges!"

Rommel looked alarmed. "Nein! Nein! Bitte!"

"Dann reden!"

"Mein Kommandeur ist General Xavier Lee!"

"He says his orders were from General Xavier Lee."

Wallace shook his head. "What I mean is, which of his buddies distributed those orders?"

"Wer tatsächlich führte diesen Angriff? Wer war hier verantwortlich?"

"Oh, Major Pierre Le Tour, des Französisch Armee. Er war der Mann, der den Angriff geführt!"

"He says it was Major Pierre Le Tour of France."

"So his superior is French. Well, that narrows it down: there's only two French dudes with the POWs," said Wallace. He turned to me and said, "Holmes, do you speak French?"

"Um, oui, monsieur," I said. "But not very well; foreign languages has never been my thing and my French is a little rusty, but I'll do my best."

Wallace nodded. "Alright, then. Come with me."

Wallace led me out of Rommel's room, down the corridor, passing a few marines on the way (to whom I saluted) and into the room where the POWs were being held. Some were being tended to, but all were under heavy guard.

One of the soldiers turned and saluted to me and Wallace. "Captain; Sergeant."

"The two French troopers we have here, Private," Wallace said. "Is one of them Major Pierre Le Tour?"

"Alas, no, Captain," the private said. "His body is among those killed. Apparently, he took his own life rather than surrender. However, the two we do have are his trusted."

"Good, show us to them!"

The private led me over to two soldiers with the French flag emblazoned on their uniforms. One was a blue female ant with green eyes, a broken antenna and bandages on her head and arm. Her name patch read COLLETTE and her rank was Lieutenant. She was looking at us fearfully. The other was a grey rabbit whose leg was in a cast. His rank was Captain and his name patch read ALFRED.

"Prenez ce que vous voulez!" Alfred said hastily in French. "Il suffit de ne pas nous tuer, s'il vous plaît!"

Wallace looked at me inquisitively.

"He said we can take whatever we want from them," I said. "He also said not to kill them."

"We're not going to kill you if you tell us what we want to know," Wallace said, and I translated carefully.

"Nous n'allons pas vous tuer si vous nous dites ce que nous voulons savoir."

Collette spoke up. " Nos ordres étaient d'éliminer tous les combattants ennemis dans la ville, en commençant par l'ambassade de garnison." She proceeded to glare at me. " Salauds américains sûrement bien faire à sauver le cul les uns des autres à la dernière seconde."

"She says her company's orders were to eliminate all hostile combatants in the city, starting with the embassy's garrison," I translated. "She also says we American bastards are good at saving each others' asses at the last second."

"It's what we do," Jerry remarked.

"So she's saying their orders were to kill or capture every last American soldier in Kabul?" Wallace asked.

I nodded. "Yes, sir."

Wallace turned his eyes to Collette. "Is there anything else we should know?" he asked. I translated, but Collette shook her head no. "Very well," said Wallace. "Holmes, Lannigan, you are dismissed. Your shift is in three hours."

"Sir, permission to ask POW one more question?" I asked.

Wallace gave me an odd look. "Permission granted, Sergeant," he said at last.

"Thank you, sir." I turned back to Collette. " Existait-il des troupes britanniques qui accompagnent votre agression?"

" Oui, mais ils sont venus pour escorter leur ministre des Affaires étrangères à l'ambassade britannique."

My eyes widened. " Le ministre des Affaires étrangères? Pourquoi?"

" Je ne sais pas. Il est probablement venu de faire glisser Afghanistan dans la guerre aussi."

I nodded. "Oui. Je vous remercie."

Collette's glare softened. "Pauvre garçon. Je n'aimerais pas avoir à se battre un autre Français, que vous devrez lutter contre votre compatriote Anglais. Prenez garde, soldat."

I suddenly felt a lump in my throat. "Oui, madame." I turned to Wallace. "I take my leave, sir." I then left the room.

"What was _that _all about?" Jerry asked when we went to check on Rommel again.

"I was asking her if there were any British with them," I said. "She said they were there to escort the British Foreign Minister, but she doesn't know why. She also says beware, as I am under threat of fighting my own nation; even my own family..."


End file.
